My Asylum
by Iricelli
Summary: Poland, caught up in the turmoils of war, finds himself running to Switzerland for refuge. Will Poland find asylum in Switzerland, or will Switzerland need an asylum himself after dealing with Poland? Warning: Crack pairing, WWII
1. Delusion

**Warning: Personified countries, crack pairing, some human names are used.**

 **This is a Hetalia: Axis Powers fan-fiction, which means the characters are personifications of countries. The characters are, however, in no way representative of the actual countries or her people. This fan-fiction does not accurately depict what happened between the nations. No offence is intended to the countries mentioned in this fan-fiction.**

 **Disclaimer: Axis Powers: Hetalia does not belong to me, it belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya.**

* * *

 **8 and 9 June 1940**

Switzerland awoke to the sound of aircrafts zooming across the sky. "For the hundredth time, stop flying over my land!" Switzerland yelled, snatching his gun and bounding off the bed.

He was scared.

Even though his expression and tone told otherwise, Switzerland was absolutely terrified.

It pained him to say it, but he was puny compared to the other nations surrounding him. His army was strong and his land well-defended, but he had no idea how long he'd be able to last against the German troops should they ever attempt to invade. Germany had made his intentions obvious: Germany's Politician had announced on 13 May 1940 that no neutral states would continue to exist within Europe.

No neutral states. No more Switzerland.

The attack never happened, but Switzerland remained vigilant.

Switzerland was ready in a few minutes. Garbed in his usual military uniform, he charged outside and glared at the aircraft speeding across.

Two Swiss plane appeared at the corner of his vision, converging on the German plane. They flanked each side of the plane. Switzerland knew they were trying to force the German aircraft to land.

When it didn't, a warning shot was fired into the air. Switzerland bit his lower lip grimly. The German planes were intentionally flying over Switzerland. More German planes approached. He mentally counted the number of planes. 15 Swiss aircraft versus 32 German planes. An air battle ensued, with bullets whizzing towards the opponents.

Amidst all the fighting, a German strode towards him calmly.

"Switzerland," Germany greeted.

Switzerland could only stare. Germany was on his land and he had no idea how to react. Germany didn't look armed, but then again, he knew about forty ways to kill a man with his bare hands, so Switzerland had to be on his guard. He gripped his gun tightly, ready to raise it and shoot him if necessary. Germany wasn't a bad person, but his Boss had a way of influencing people, and Germany could very well have been brainwashed already.

"Uh... Hello, Germany. What are you doing here?" Switzerland inquired cordially. Every cell in him was screaming, _Get off my land, get off my land!_

Germany gazed up at the German plane spiralling downwards, a trail of smoke tailing behind it. "What'd you attack me for? We were in French territory!"

"You were in Swiss airspace. No Swiss planes have flown over foreign territory," Switzerland asserted. He sounded braver than he felt, but he knew that the only way to survive was to deceive the other nations into believing he was stronger than he actually was.

Germany pressed his lips into a thin line. Switzerland noticed that Germany looked... Different. He seemed more harassed, with a few stray locks of blonde hair falling across his eyes, but there was a spark in his eye that trumpeted his victories and high morale. "We weren't attacking you."

"But you were in my airspace," Switzerland pointed out insistently. "I have the right to shoot down any plane in Swiss airspace that could potentially be a threat to my country."

"And you're using German-made machinery?" Germany sighed. The irony of it all was rather amusing, but his planes were getting destroyed and that displeased him greatly.

"That's right." Switzerland shifted his weight to the other leg uncomfortably. "What about that?"

Germany's eyes roved Switzerland. "It's a shame that you're turning your back on us," Germany muttered as he spun around and walked away.

 **(8 June 1940: 32 German planes were ordered to enter Switzerland's airspace. Germany claimed that Switzerland had attacked first over France.**

 **9 June 1940: Switzerland replied that no Swiss plane had flown over foreign territory.)**

-o-

 **19 June 1940**

There was a knock on the door. Switzerland answered it with a yawn – he had barely slept last night thanks to all the sounds of fighting from the Battle of France in the west.

"I told you not to attack German aircraft," Germany drawled, his steely blue eyes boring into Switzerland.

Switzerland had to force himself to breathe normally and not slam the door in Germany's face. "I wish to maintain my personal space," Switzerland stated, hoping that his voice wouldn't waver.

Germany reached into his breast pocket and unfolded a slip of paper. "The German Reich reserves the right to take any measure necessary for the prevention of attacks of this nature," Germany read out. "In event of any repetition of such incidents, the Reich will dispense with written communications and resort to other means of safeguarding German interests."

Switzerland's frown deepened. Was that a threat? "... Fine. I won't intercept your planes." Switzerland sagged. Germany was larger and stronger, and Switzerland had no doubt that he'd make good on his threat – Germany was a man of his word. In this situation, though, it was a bad thing.

Germany stepped into Switzerland's house.

Switzerland backed away instinctively. "Don't come any nearer, I'll shoot!"

"I just want to negotiate some things," Germany said calmly. "I've been sent here under direct orders to convey the messages to you. I won't hurt you."

Switzerland didn't relinquish his grip on the gun. "What do you want?"

"Your Swiss fighters intervened beyond your borders. My Boss demands an apology and reparations for all the damage you have done, and that my German soldiers and planes are returned."

"T-That's crazy!" Switzerland spat. His mind raced. Being a neutral country, he strictly believed in never obliging to any side. He stood alone.

"I expect my planes back soon," Germany intoned, then his eyes softened. "Switzerland, please don't do anything stupid. My Boss is bent on destroying you."

 _The Swiss are an armed people willing to preserve its independence_ , Switzerland seethed inwardly. _Nobody can conceive without horror a foreign occupation, and the Swiss can and must defend themselves. The topography of the country is a first-rate ally, and the new methods of warfare will not take the Swiss unprepared... Thus will the country be strong and the Army quite ready. One order is ample: "Hold fast!"_

"He won't. He can't," Switzerland declared, giving Germany a defiant look.

Germany's expression gave nothing away. Then, much like the first time, he whirled about and exited with paced steps.

Switzerland darted to the door and locked it before staggering to a sofa and sinking down onto it. All of this was tiring him to the bone. His men had to be constantly battle-ready for fear of an invasion from practically anywhere. It was a bane to be wedged between four – actually, two – powerful nations. Switzerland wasn't going to acknowledge that Austria, that pussy, was powerful, and Italy was rather self-explanatory.

Then again, France was weakening rapidly, which meant that only one of his neighbours were truly powerful.

Yet that one neighbour could cause him enough of a headache. Austria had joined Germany, so, in retrospect, German allies surrounded about half of Switzerland.

Switzerland knew France was falling. Paris had been seized by German troops five days ago, and all the French and Polish troops were being pushed to the southern side of France.

If France fell, Switzerland would be completely fenced in by German forces. That was a horrifying – but very plausible – notion.

Switzerland curled up into a foetal position and moaned into his knees.

-o-

"Men, fall back!"

The Polish troops kicked up rocks and dust as they retreated towards the town. The fighting had been going on for over a week, and each passing day only meant that France was closer to obliteration. Germany's advance had forced the French and Polish troops towards the southern part of France. Their combined forces hadn't been enough to defend France. Very soon, France was going to end up like Poland; just another part of Germany.

Poland felt unbridled rage bubble within him. Why _him_? Why was it always him who was targeted, invaded, partitioned? He had been partitioned thrice during the pinnacle of his power.

The subsequent period of time unearthed too many painful memories. He had wandered, lost and alone, around Prussia and Austria's house. No one acknowledged him – why would they? Poland no longer existed.

Poland was resurrected like a phoenix in 1918, but his independence was short-lived. He only enjoyed thirty-one years of having his old life back when Germany invaded without warning.

Germany had begun his conquest with Poland, dividing Poland's land up between him and Russia and sparking off World War Two. Poland had fled to France to evade capture. He didn't want to return to the cold, dark house where everyone ignored him.

Poland didn't know why he was so unfortunate, but he had to keep smiling. For the sake of his people and himself, he had to.

Poland gripped his rifle tightly, his breath coming in ragged pants as he ran away from the Germans. He entered a quaint little French town that had been mostly deserted and ducked into a stairwell. His men followed him. The German troops had stopped pursuing them, so they were safe for now.

How long, though, would they last? If this kept up, France would be taken over really quickly. Poland racked his mind for his next plan of action.

 _"O Vreneli, my pretty one, pray tell me where's your home?"_

 _"My home it is in Switzerland, 'tis made of wood and stone. It's filled with oh so many beautiful lakes and springs."_

A smile crept on to Poland's face.

"Let's go to Switzerland!"

 **(19 June 1940: Germany threatened Switzerland, and Switzerland had to stop intercepting airplanes in the sky. This didn't stop them from shooting down planes from the ground, though.**

 **The Polish army received instructions to escape to Switzerland.)**

* * *

 **Hello! This is my first fan-fiction that ventures into more dangerous territory, namely WWII.**

 **I tried my best to do ample research to keep it historically accurate (er, at least for the events that transpired), because – let's face it – it's a crack pairing and nothing here will ever be historically accurate hahahahaha.**

 **I hope you enjoy the story!**


	2. Aversion

**Warning: Personified countries, crack pairing, some human names are used.**

 **This is a Hetalia: Axis Powers fan-fiction, which means the characters are personifications of countries. The characters are, however, in no way representative of the actual countries or her people. This fan-fiction does not accurately depict what happened between the nations. No offence is intended to the countries mentioned in this fan-fiction.**

 **Disclaimer: Axis Powers: Hetalia does not belong to me, it belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya.**

* * *

 **20 June 1940**

"We're almost there," Poland encouraged his men. All of them had been in rather low spirits – he was no exception – but Poland tried to be optimistic. The idea of meeting the demure personification of Switzerland cheered him up greatly. Switzerland seemed like a motherly, pacifist type. He was sure they'd get along well.

Poland plodded up the steep slopes. His calves ached from all the trekking. Then, in the horizon, the silhouette of a few men with assault rifles poised downwards materialised. Poland perked up, widening his eyes to take in the scene. "The Swiss army!" he exulted.

The French and Polish troops quickened their pace, brushing off the protests made by their weary bodies. Up till a short while ago, France had been with Poland, but he decided to stay in the southern parts of France. With the loss of his flamboyant companion, Poland felt nervous. He was going to have to talk to strangers alone.

The Swiss soldiers raised their weapons. "Stop!"

The soldiers stumbled to a halt. The Swiss army had their rifles aimed at the troops.

Poland could feel the expectant gaze of his men on him. He was their leader, it was his duty to step up and explain the situation.

Poland was scared, but he had no choice.

"We're Polish and French troops from the Battle of France," Poland began, quelling his quaking nerves. "We... We're losing the battle."

"What is going on here?"

Another man pushed his way through the group of Swiss soldiers clustered before the forty-two thousand Polish and French troops. He had choppy blonde hair and intense emerald eyes. Those eyes scanned the entire group as the scowl on his face grew larger, then he threw up his hands in exasperation, spewing something in Swiss-German to his men.

They conversed for a while, not bothering to hide it from the Polish and French troops. It didn't matter – Poland didn't understand a word they said, but he heard "Polen" and "Frankreich" thrown in.

Finally, the blonde man who had spoken turned to them. "You can stay here, but the Swiss government will not fund you for anything. If you need money, ask your respective countries. You can seek lodging in hotels or citizens' homes if they're willing to take you in. The Swiss will not hesitate to shoot if you cause any trouble."

 _This guy is totally a bubble of joy,_ Poland thought.

"For our safety, you are ordered to remove all weapons. Form a line here and surrender all of them," the blonde instructed, indicating the start of the line with his arm.

Down the road, several other Swiss soldiers did the same. Forty-two thousand people was no meagre amount by any stretch; it would be more efficient to split them up.

Poland found himself being jostled along by the Polish men hurrying to enter the queue, and he found himself right at the end of the line by the time he orientated himself.

It was going to be a long wait.

As Poland robotically took a step forward every few seconds, he let his mind wander.

The Swiss terrain was beautiful. The green grass looked so inviting, Poland felt inclined to roll all around the grass. Judging by the way the slope curved downward gracefully, Poland was certain he could roll unhindered for at least fifteen minutes before he reached the bottom. The fluffy clouds drifted past lazily, brushing the snow-capped peaks of the highest mountains.

This place was surreal. Poland had to suppress an excited squeal. It was exactly like in his imagination: Rolling hills, endless plains... Now all he needed was Switzerland herself.

"What are you doing?"

The gruff voice snapped Poland out of his fantasy. The bossy Swiss male was glaring at him, the light on the back of his head causing his fair hair to glow lightly like a halo. Poland wondered why he was seeing things from this angle until he realised he was lying on the ground.

"I... I was just... Measuring how soft the grass is!" Poland stuttered, pushing himself into a sitting position.

The man looked unconvinced. Poland peered more closely at his name tag. "Zwingli", it wrote.

"Well, hand over your gun," Zwingli commanded, extending his arm to collect Poland's rifle.

Poland eyes flickered from Zwingli's calloused palm to the rifle clasped between his own thighs, then he pulled the gun out from between his legs and handed it to Zwingli.

Zwingli's reaction was hilarious. The corners of his lips tugged downwards even further and his fingers curled stiffly around the gun. "Any other weapons?" Zwingli queried caustically.

Poland shook his head.

"Well then, you're free to go." Zwingli dropped the gun hastily in the sizeable pile next to his booted feet and gave Poland a small nod.

Poland didn't need to be told a second time. He got out of there fast. Zwingli was terrifying. His glare could almost rival Sweden's.

The sun beat down on his head as Poland strolled aimlessly through Switzerland. What was he supposed to do now?

Oh, right. He had to find Switzerland.

Scanning the area, he found that that might be an impossible task. There were way too many women here.

Still, impossible was nothing to Poland. He sidled up to one of the women and flashed her a million-watt smile. "Hello."

The woman tittered, keeping her guard up yet finding herself oddly entranced by the handsome Pole.

Poland wondered how he was going to wheedle information out of the woman. He couldn't directly ask, "Are you Switzerland?", nor could he utter something along the lines of "I'm Poland". It was too strange.

Well, now that he had gotten the woman's attention, it would've been rude of him not to entertain her. " _Dzień dobry._ I'm from Poland," he told her, taking the woman's hand and kissing it gently.

The woman beamed, concealing her giggles behind her other hand. "How charming," she swooned.

Poland recalled something that Zwingli had said. "Madame, would you be so kind as to let me stay in your house temporarily? I have nowhere to go, you see."

"Oh..." The woman trailed off. Her eyes darted to the mountain view for a second. "My husband isn't at home, I suppose—"

"Excuse me," a familiar voice interrupted. Poland felt his skin turn to ice.

Zwingli came into view, his jade eyes flashing angrily as he stormed towards Poland. "You idiot! What do you think you're doing? Don't flirt with my people!"

Poland resisted the urge to hide behind the woman, instead meeting Zwingli's gaze evenly. "I'm trying to find a place to stay."

"You're wreaking havoc here," Zwingli scowled, eyeing the other women nearby swooning over the foreign soldiers. He prayed this stupid war would end soon, then the troops could all return home.

"Am not!" Poland retorted, then sighed. "Swiss people are so gorgeous."

Zwingli looked flabbergasted, then he spat defensively, "You can't stay with them! Our women have husbands who are working hard to defend our country! You're just trying to exploit their loneliness, aren't you? I won't allow such an unchaste thing to happen before my eyes!"

Poland had no idea what Zwingli was raging on about, but it would've been completely foolhardy to retort when Zwingli was in such a rage.

"Well, what do you expect me to do? I can't stay out in the streets!"

Zwingli exhaled sharply and his eyes raked Poland. "You can stay with me."

Well, _shit_.

 **(20 June 1940: 42,000 French and Polish troops from the Battle of France escaped into Switzerland. 12,000 were Polish.)**

-o-

Poland straggled behind Zwingli, his eyes scanning the streets for any possible escape route. Deep down, though, he knew that it would be futile to escape. Zwingli would most likely find him again. He was trapped in Switzerland, and it wasn't like he could live in the mountains by himself.

Therefore, he had to choice but to follow Zwingli.

Poland had to scamper every few steps to keep up with Zwingli. Although the man was small, he had a huge stride.

None of them spoke for the duration of the journey. This suited Poland; he didn't want to talk, and he didn't want to hear Zwingli shouting at him.

Zwingli brought him to the countryside. The lush grass stretched out for miles, its tirade only broken by sparse bushes. A large house sat upon an area where the slope levelled out.

 _This must be Zwingli's house. Funny that a man like him would live in such a cute house._

Still, Poland was relieved that he'd finally be able to rest. Poland was tired, but he didn't want to display his weakness in front of Zwingli. Zwingli would only scorn him more.

As expected, Zwingli led him towards the house, but they had to hike up the mountain before reaching. Poland sagged, letting his hands fall limply before him.

Zwingli slowed his pace, then seized Poland's arm and started to drag him. Poland squirmed, but he was so exhausted, struggling would only weaken him further. It wasn't a bad thing that Zwingli was towing him along, anyway.

They finally arrived at the front door. Zwingli fished his keys out from his pocket, then inserted it into the lock and twisted it. The door unlocked with a click. Zwingli turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

"Please enter," Zwingli muttered.

Poland stepped inside gingerly. The house was small and neat, but a few dishes lay unwashed in the sink. It had a homely feel, except there was one major problem.

The house wasn't pink.

Poland could hardly complain, though he badly wanted to. At least this place seemed livable.

Zwingli was removing the flowers perched on his windowsill.

"Why are you doing that? Those flowers are totally cute."

Poland turned bright red once the words were out of his mouth. Zwingli froze, then he swivelled around with agonising slowness and looked right at Poland.

"Trouble is brewing," was all Zwingli said.

Yes, that completely answered Poland's question.

Poland bit his lip and surveyed the house more. There was a stairway leading to a darkened second floor, where the bedrooms were likely to be.

"So..." Zwingli began formally, squeezing past Poland to get to the kitchen, "Can I get you anything? A cup of water, or tea?"

"W-Water, please," Poland squeaked.

Zwingli grunted and entered the kitchen.

Poland stood in the middle of the living room, wringing his hands together anxiously. He was going to have to stay here for goodness knows how long, and he was sure he'd never get along with Zwingli.

Life here was going to be torture.

Zwingli returned with two glasses of water, setting them down on the table before plopping himself down on the couch opposite. "Sit," he ordered, gesturing at the sofa.

Poland complied reluctantly and balled his hands up in his lap.

Zwingli ran a hand through his hair, brushing away the longish tresses by the side of his face. "Er, welcome to Switzerland."

 _You're not making me feel very welcome,_ Poland griped, staring at his fingers studiously.

Zwingli continued, "I wish we could've met under better circumstances."

 _No! I wish we wouldn't have met at all!_

"Since you're here, we have to make the most of our situation."

 _Yes. Even though life sucks, you have to keep persevering._ Poland was starting to feel a little better. Zwingli seemed to have the same outlook of life as he did.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Switzerland."

Poland's head shot up so fast, the force nearly snapped his neck.

 _This_ man was Switzerland? Where was the fair blonde maiden with the sparkling green eyes and jovial smile?

The perfect picture in his mind shattered, revealing a frowning male. Zwingli – no, _Switzerland_ – gritted out, "If you're imagining me in a dress, I suggest you rid yourself of that thought before I do it for you."

Well, double _shit_.

* * *

 **Hey, thanks for reading :) Please do leave a review if you have any feedback!**

 **Also, I know some of you might think Poland is OOC, but he is canonically shy around new people and I love that part about him omg Poland babe *spazzes and dies***


	3. Tension

**Warning: Personified countries, crack pairing, some human names are used.**

 **This is a Hetalia: Axis Powers fan-fiction, which means the characters are personifications of countries. The characters are, however, in no way representative of the actual countries or her people. This fan-fiction does not accurately depict what happened between the nations. No offence is intended to the countries mentioned in this fan-fiction.**

 **Disclaimer: Axis Powers: Hetalia does not belong to me, it belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya.**

* * *

 **25 June 1940**

Poland kept out of Switzerland's way, and Switzerland kept out of his by virtue of the door separating Poland's room from the outside world. This arrangement was fine as it was.

Poland sat in his room – as he had been doing the past five days – and pulled out the picture in his pocket. The picture was wrinkled and flecked with bits of mud and blood. Poland ran his hand over it affectionately, brushing away some dried dirt, then gazed longingly at the brunette with the kind emerald eyes in the picture.

"Lithuania..." Poland breathed, a teardrop spilling out of his eye and falling upon Poland's face in the photo. His face blurred, the colours smudging and fading into its surroundings.

Just like Poland had done.

Poland wasn't an emotional person, but with the collapse of his country, so did a part of Poland. He wasn't as strong as he had been.

Plastering a smile on his face, Poland exited his room. He couldn't hide in there forever, and besides, he was _starving_.

Switzerland had yelled at him to come out for meals for the first three days, but when he didn't, Switzerland left a plate of food by Poland's door. Poland would only crack the door open in the middle of the night, quickly take the food inside and scarf the cold dish down. Switzerland continued to leave meals outside Poland's door, but he hadn't done so today, and Poland wondered why.

Stepping out of his room for the first time since he came here, Poland was surprised to find the house empty. He took a few more cautious steps towards the main door.

At that exact moment, Switzerland blew in with the force of a raging storm, muttering swear words in various languages. He cut short when he saw Poland standing there, rooted to the ground in fear.

"You finally came out," Switzerland stated, astonishment evident in his voice.

Poland twitched his neck muscles in what he hoped was a nod. "I-I was hungry."

Switzerland's eyes widened. "Oh, I'm sorry, it completely slipped my mind." Switzerland sounded so sincere, whatever resentment Poland had felt dissipated instantly.

"I'll go make some food now." Switzerland set a large file and a rifle down on the table, then made his way into the kitchen.

Poland felt himself drawn to the file. Call him nosey, but he was curious as to what Switzerland was doing. What could've been so important that Switzerland forgot about him?

Poland flipped the file open and scanned it. His mouth fell open...

Because he couldn't understand a word. Disappointed, he shut the file again.

There was nothing else to do but wait for the food. Poland was positive he'd go crazy from boredom here. For five whole days, Poland had done nothing but sleep, eat, shower and mope around in general.

Switzerland returned with simple baked potatoes. "There's not much food left," he explained in a low voice. It was then Poland realised how fatigued Switzerland actually looked. Large eye circles ringed his hollow eyes, his hair was frazzled like straw, and his skin was dull.

"You look like crap," Poland blurted. _Darn it, why do I always say such embarrassing things at the worst times?!_

Switzerland didn't oppose, which probably scared Poland more than if he _did_ oppose. He only slid the plate of baked potatoes across the table to Poland. "I know. _En Guete._ "

Poland didn't know what Switzerland had said, but it didn't sound offensive, so he shrugged it off. More pressing matters called for his attention.

"Are you, like, okay?" Poland couldn't help it; he was inquisitive, and seeing Switzerland like that pained him somehow. Even though he only knew Switzerland for five days, he didn't feel the initial aversion that he had felt towards 'Zwingli'. Switzerland had granted him asylum without complaint, given him a roof over his head, fed him, clothed him...

Poland should be thankful, but he wouldn't admit that he was. This place was duller than Lithuania's story about his capital.

Switzerland massaged the area between his brows. "I'm fine. Eat your food."

Poland picked up the fork and plunged it into a chunk of potato. He felt affronted that Switzerland would lie to him so blatantly. "You're not fine. Tell me what's wrong."

Switzerland scowled. "It's not like you'd care."

Poland had to concur that that statement was just a teeny bit correct. He didn't care for Switzerland, did he? Then again, Switzerland had been... Kind to him, if constantly threatening to break the door down could be considered an act of kindness.

He had to prove Switzerland wrong. "I care!" Poland cried, slamming his fork down on the plate.

Switzerland frowned at the plate. "Don't crack it."

"Tell me what's wrong!"

"Fine then. Why do you care?!"

This stopped Poland short. Yeah, _why_ did Poland care? His only job now was to be a bum and infringe on Switzerland. He felt his resolve cracking as Switzerland speared him with his eyes.

Switzerland watched as Poland grasped feebly for an answer, his thin lips quivering. Had Switzerland been hoping against hope that the Pole actually cared?

No, Switzerland didn't believe that. He was always going to be solitary. He'd face everything by himself.

Switzerland sighed loudly and yanked the file over. Poland jolted in shock, then continued to pick at the potatoes.

The latest report was at the very top. It brought back bitter memories of the scene that had unfolded earlier.

 _Switzerland was called back to the office by his General at some ungodly hour. His General knew that Switzerland was always in a bad mood if he didn't get sufficient sleep, but if his General called him back anyway, it must be something serious. Switzerland knocked on the door hesitantly and it swung open._

 _"Ah, Switzerland," his General greeted, holding the door open for him._

 _"Sir," Switzerland responded, stalking past him towards the desk. He pulled out a chair and sank down onto it heavily. A part of him was still groggy from the lack of sleep._

 _Noting the expectant silence, his General began, "This... Is going to be difficult to say." He slid into his seat opposite Switzerland and clasped his hands together._

 _Switzerland blinked sleepily, the fog in his mind clearing a little._

 _"France has surrendered."_

 _Switzerland snorted. To others, it might've seemed like he was scornful, but his fear grew even more. France, the last remaining non-Axis neighbour, was out of the way._

 _A chill ran down Switzerland's spine. He was doomed. Germany could attack from all four sides, and Swiss troops would put up a resistance for a month at most, then fall. It was something all his men knew, but they had to keep up the visage of having an unbeatable army to deter attackers._

 _"The Germans have started planning for..." The General left the sentence hanging._

 _This sent a spurt of adrenaline through Switzerland's body, snapping him awake immediately. No other words were necessary. They all knew what was next. Switzerland, the small "degenerate" country, whom Germany's boss despised, was going to be invaded. His blood pounded in his ears. The ticking sound of the clock seemed way too loud, and so were the scuffling footfalls coming closer._

 _"Switzerland, sir!"_

 _Another man burst into the office, looking smug. "I have released all German troops and returned their planes."_

 _"WHAT?!" Switzerland shrieked._

 _"I do not approve," his General muttered._

 _"Damn it!" Switzerland yelled, shoving the chair backwards with a grating sound as he leapt to his feet. His weary bones screamed in protest. "We can't give in to Germany's demands! It goes against our neutral policy!"_

 _"Yes, I know," his Minister mumbled begrudgingly. He could practically feel the flames from the two men before him licking at his skin and searing him. "We have no choice. We have to make Germany happy; we depend too much on him."_

 _"We're doing fine!" Switzerland pushed himself away from the table and began to pace. He knew he was lying to himself. Switzerland was small and barren; they lacked natural resources and relied a lot on German imports._

 _His General pursed his lips. "You're going to have to explain this to the civilians."_

 _"I will," his Minister sighed._

 _"That was a stupid decision!" Switzerland fumed, turning on the Minister. "Do you know what you've done? You've made us seem weak!"_

 _"Times are changing, Switzerland," his Minister placated. "You have to accept the new reality in Europe. You have to adapt. By the way, I've called for the army to demobilise."_

 _"WHAT?!" Just when Switzerland thought he could grasp the situation with clammy palms, his Minister had tossed another bomb at him._

 _His Minister swallowed before speaking. "It's pointless to keep this up, Switzerland. We've appeased Germany for now, we're in no immediate danger."_

 _"Germany just seized France! He could be upon us anytime!" Switzerland took a few shuddering breaths to dispel the sob that had gotten lodged in his throat. He couldn't change his Minister's mind – the deed had been done._

"Hey."

"Hey!"

"HEY!"

"What?" Switzerland yelled, roused from his horrible flashback.

Poland flinched. "Take the bucket off!"

 _What?_ Switzerland's hands flew to his head and met cold metal. He took the bucket down shakily. It was dented in several places.

"Crazy much?" Poland remarked.

"What do you know?" Switzerland spat, feeling hostility bubble within him. The adrenaline buzz had died off, leaving him even more lethargic and irritable than ever, and Poland's jibes weren't helping matters. The pummelling that his bucket-head had suffered worsened his pounding headache further.

"It's totally not normal to, like, punch yourself with a bucket over your head," Poland rationalised intelligently. "Something is terribly wrong with you."

Switzerland wanted to snipe sarcastically at Poland, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Now that Poland had finally left the room and opened up to him, he felt obliged to extend the same courtesy to him. "Well..." Switzerland fidgeted in his seat, then his expression hardened. "Germany is planning to attack me, I've just violated my neutrality, my army is down to 150,000 men and everyone is demoralised. You happy now?" He gave a self-deprecating laugh. It sounded more like a raspy cough.

Poland gaped at Switzerland. "Hey, we could be, like, in the same boat!"

Wrong choice of words. Poland was never a tactful type, anyway.

"Are you crazy?" Switzerland barked. "I'm _not_ going to end up like you! I'll fight to the death!"

An embarrassing rumble from Switzerland's stomach ruined his passionate speech.

Poland broke into a grin and impaled the last chunk of potato on his fork, thrusting it into Switzerland's open mouth. "Why didn't you, like, tell me you were hungry too?"

 **(25 June 1940: France officially surrendered. The Germans started planning for the invasion of Switzerland.**

 **Marcel Pilet-Golaz called for the German soldiers and planes to be returned, and the Swiss army to be demobilised.**

 **Food rationing was carried out in Switzerland from 30 October 1939 to 1 July 1948.)**

-o-

Things escalated quickly from there.

Switzerland stood up so fast, his thighs bumped the table and it tipped over. The fork clattered to the ground noisily. Poland fell victim to a plate falling upon his vital regions. Total chaos ensued.

Switzerland was absolutely seething at the broken plate and the bit of potato that had gone to waste. While he was at fault, he argued that Poland shouldn't have done that. Didn't the Pole know well enough not to invade his personal space?

Poland, on the other hand, just rolled around on the ground in pain.

"Stop crying!" Switzerland snapped, righting the table.

"It huuurts! I can't even describe it, you have to experience it for yourself!" Poland whined.

"No thanks," Switzerland answered curtly, getting down on all fours to locate the fragments of the plate. Poland was hunched over the chair, his arms wrapped around his abdomen – and something else.

"Oh my God, it totally burns!" Poland wept.

"Stop complaining!"

"But it hurts!"

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? Now shut up!"

At that exact moment, Switzerland found a shard of glass by placing his hand on the ground and having the shard pierce through his palm.

This made Switzerland even madder.

Switzerland's patience had been at its limit, and his limit was really low in the first place. The throbbing pain in his palm, coupled with the incessant wailing of the Pole, pushed him over the edge.

Switzerland exploded, "Poland, get the hell out of my house!"

Poland's first reaction was shock. _He can't kick me out!_

Then the muddled thoughts set in. _Get out? But why? I've been making some progress! Oh, my nether regions really hurt._

Poland forced the pain to the back of his mind and tried to make sense of Switzerland's words.

Switzerland... Told him to get out.

It was a good thing. Definitely. It was, right?

Switzerland was way too moody and unpredictable, and he was still afraid of the violent Swiss, so getting away from him seemed like a brilliant idea at the moment. Anyway, it wasn't like Poland couldn't survive without Switzerland. He'd do a way better job without Switzerland skewering him with his glare and cramping his style.

"Okay. Bye," Poland chirped, getting up and hobbling towards the door.

"Wait."

Poland paused at the doorway, one hand on the knob.

Switzerland spoke again, in a strained voice. "I'm sorry. I let anger get the better of me."

Poland remained silent. Switzerland apologising felt out of place. Maybe there was a side of Switzerland he didn't know.

"C-Come back here before I shoot you," Switzerland threatened weakly, feeling hopelessness wash over him like chilly waves. He didn't want Poland to leave, to return to the warring world outside. He didn't explicitly _want_ Poland here, but he couldn't leave him outside to die either.

"You know, your words aren't making me feel better," Poland sneered.

 _Shit._ Switzerland licked his parched lips, berating himself for his inability to express himself properly. "Look, i-it's not so bad having you here... I think." He could feel his cheeks heating up. "I want you to stay here."

Poland felt his insides turn to mush. "For real?"

Switzerland exhaled gustily, rearranging his features into a scowl. "Just... don't go out."

Poland's hand tightened around the doorknob. "Why would you want me here?"

Switzerland's eyes flashed. "I-It's a crazy world outside, and you could get, uh, hurt."

"You _want_ me here?" Poland pressed. Evaluating his choices once more, he realised it was alright here. It was safe here, with no Germany or Russia breathing down his back, revelling in their triumph over him.

"S-Stop asking me before I change my mind!" Switzerland snapped.

Poland stood up, wincing at the pain between his legs. There was the tiniest hint of smugness in his voice when he spoke. "Well... You said it."

Switzerland wanted to shout at him – he was incorrigible. For a moment he found himself wondering why he even bothered taking Poland in, but the jolt of pain through his palm reminded him about the situation at hand. There was still a shattered plate on the floor, and blood pooling where his hand had been.

Staring daggers at the Pole, Switzerland got up to move towards the kitchen to retrieve his first-aid box.

When Switzerland exited the kitchen after having bandaged his hand, he was greeted by the sight of Poland poring over a stack of papers. Upon closer inspection, Switzerland realised that they were from Liechtenstein's room.

"H-Hey, don't touch my sister's things!" Switzerland snarled, snatching the papers away from Poland. His eyes raked the papers curiously, then he let out an audible gasp. It was more than _audible_ , it was practically a howl.

"P-Poland! You've overstayed your damn welcome! I-In the first place, you weren't even welcome! Out, out!" Switzerland spluttered, giving Poland a shove in the direction of the door. His ears burned in embarrassment. Those drawings were the ones he had done for Liechtenstein as per her request, and he had consented because he simply couldn't refuse her.

Now Poland had seen those drawings. How was a guy supposed to keep up his tough-guy image if people snooped around and saw cutesy animal doodles? At least he didn't sign his name on the papers. Poland might believe those were Liechtenstein's.

Poland tilted his head. "Man, I thought Russia was weird, but you're even worse. How many times do you have to tell me to get out and come back in?"

Switzerland felt blood rise to his cheeks, feeling even sillier than ever. And the fact that _Poland_ had made him feel ridiculous didn't do anything to dispel his embarrassment. "L-Look, I don't want you to go out of the house, b-but that didn't mean you could go into her room!"

Poland ignored him. "Did Liechtenstein draw those?"

"No— I mean, yes! Of course she did! Do you think I'd spend all my training time drawing for her? Ha... Ha..." Switzerland's voice faltered. He had always been a horrible liar, and he didn't think it was proper to lie anyway. He sighed. "Okay, I drew them for her. If you tell anyone I'll shoot you until you're dead, got it?"

Poland giggled. "You're quite the budding artist, aren't you? I want a drawing like that too! Do you think you can draw ponies?"

"I'm not drawing anything for the likes of you!" Switzerland snapped. He wondered briefly if Poland had been sarcastic, but he dismissed the thought. Who cares? Switzerland intended to make sure that Poland kept his mouth shut about those drawings.

Poland went on, completely unfazed by Switzerland's hostile words. "Hey, can we go shopping?"

Having been cooped up for five days – alone – was taking its toll on Poland. He was bored out of his wits.

"Shopping? Now?" Switzerland repeated incredulously.

Poland shrugged. "It's not like I can do anything. No cute girls, no ponies, no kicking butt."

"You weren't kicking butt either way," Switzerland pointed out, with some chagrin.

Poland waved him off. "Whatever! Let's go."

Switzerland found himself being dragged to boutiques after boutiques unwillingly. Poland made him try on a few things, but Switzerland drew the line at dresses.

"I think you'd look totally cute in this dress," Poland insisted. "Please? Just once?"

"No." Switzerland's tone held a note of finality. "I have important matters to attend to, Poland! I don't want to end up like..." His voice cracked, unable to get the words out. He could feel a new wave of emotions rushing at him.

"... Like me?" Poland finished sombrely. The Polish troops had fallen in the span of a month. In their defense, though, they had been caught unaware.

"Y-Yeah." Switzerland hoped he didn't offend Poland, but he was more concerned about the state of his nation than what Poland thought of him at the moment.

Poland was silent for a few beats – a refreshing change from his earlier talkativeness, to be honest. Then he shattered the silence. "I can't be of help."

"Yeah," Switzerland muttered, already turning away. "But none of this is your business. All the responsibility is on myself." His heart was heavy, and so were the tears threatening to spill over his eyes. He decided to make haste and get out of here before Poland noticed his display of weakness.

Poland wrung his hands together as he watched Switzerland leave. Switzerland had been kind enough to give his soldiers asylum, and he wanted badly to repay him. This wasn't usual Poland behaviour.

What could he say? There was something different about Switzerland. Switzerland was scary at first glance, but if he had allowed that many soldiers to enter his country, he couldn't be all that bad.

Poland felt like he could be himself here. Switzerland was supposedly a neutral person, and he hadn't jibed about his quirks at all, even though it was evident in his mannerisms that he held disdain. Still, it wasn't as if Poland was completely unaccustomed to that feeling.

* * *

 **Update because I'm in an amazing mood today! Fire Emblem Fates comes out today! Whooo!**

 **Sorry if anything in the story sounds weird or OOC! You can always drop a review to give criticism ;D**


	4. Affliction

**Warning: Personified countries, crack pairing, some human names are used.**

 **This is a Hetalia: Axis Powers fan-fiction, which means the characters are personifications of countries. The characters are, however, in no way representative of the actual countries or her people. This fan-fiction does not accurately depict what happened between the nations. No offence is intended to the countries mentioned in this fan-fiction.**

 **Disclaimer: Axis Powers: Hetalia does not belong to me, it belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya.**

 **Thank you to the Guest for the reviews!**

* * *

 **A few days later**

Poland was awoken by a sharp rap on his door. He got up, plodding sleepily towards the door. Upon opening it, he found Switzerland outside, already dressed in his military uniform.

"Come with me," Switzerland ordered without waiting for Poland to speak.

 _What?_

"Huh? What? Why?" Poland spluttered.

Switzerland gave an aggrieved sigh. "I don't want to do this any more than the next guy."

"What are you talking about?" Poland demanded, his insides twisting. Whatever it was, it sounded bad.

Switzerland regarded Poland coldly for a few seconds, then explained slowly, "Okay. There are twelve thousand Poles here."

Poland nodded, unsure of what the Swiss was getting at.

"It's too messy if every one of you runs amok, and Germany—" Switzerland's voice cracked at the word. "—is pressuring me to go harder on you."

 _Wait, what?_ Poland's insides turned into a roiling mass at the mention of Germany.

"So I'm sending you to an internment camp," Switzerland finished. "I hope you understand. B-But even i-if you don't, you d-don't have a say in the matter!"

 _Switzerland's usual charming self is back again, I see._ Poland took a glimpse at the pristine house, his heart sinking. He wasn't going to have the soft bed, the palatable food and the clean room anymore.

"What if I say no?" Poland asked.

Switzerland's contorted his face into what could be considered a smile – albeit an evil one. "You don't have a choice."

That was how Poland ended up following Switzerland. The two of them walked in a rather uncomfortable silence. Poland wasn't used to silence in the company of people – he often tried to fill such voids with the sound of his voice. Poland tried to say something, but he didn't know what to say now. All the topics that he thought of seemed so superficial. Deciding to keep his mouth shut instead, he risked a glance at Switzerland.

The Swiss had the eternal frown on his face, his focus on the road ahead. He had the appearance of a world-weary old man despite having a human age of nineteen. Of course, Switzerland was hundreds of years old, so looking like that didn't seem that off.

Finally, Poland uttered, "What's in it for me?"

"Nothing. You stay there until you can go home," Switzerland replied.

"How boring," Poland voiced.

Switzerland clicked his tongue in aggravation. "You should be thankful I'm letting you stay here and not handing you over to Germany! I have other things to worry about, Poland! Your boredom is the least of my concerns!"

Poland felt his stomach wrench. He didn't feel remorseful – Poland did _not_ feel such things. Changing the topic, he asked, "Do you think the camp would look good in pink?"

"We don't have that much pink paint. Besides, it's a waste of resources." Switzerland wondered why he even bothered replying to such an inane question.

"Oh, okay." Now that Poland's initial chattiness had died down, his shyness was probably going to kick in again. Poland could keep up his bravado around unfamiliar people for a while, then he'd crumble into a weeping mess. He clenched his fists and instructed himself to keep walking. _Just don't tell him to show you his junk._

Poland made it to the camp without blurting any potentially scarring things. He walked into the wire-mesh enclosure without protest.

Switzerland shut the gate behind him, then turned to bid Poland farewell. "Uh, have fun?"

Poland's eyes raked Switzerland, then nodded. This tiny nation was their sanctum from the war. He could've easily turned the soldiers away or handed them over to the Germans to save himself the hassle and the hostilities from Germany, but he didn't. Switzerland was a man who drummed to his own rhythm. He did what he wanted.

Poland liked it.

He liked his personality, that is. He didn't like the man himself.

 **(6,000 Polish soldiers were sent to internment camps. (I have no idea what happened to the other 36,000 soldiers.))**

-o-

 **25 July 1940**

Switzerland left Poland alone most of the time. He would drop by occasionally to check on him, but each time, the visits were brief and awkward. Whenever Switzerland visited him, the wall that Poland had set up around him to keep strangers out would chip away a little. It was mostly broken now, and Poland felt... Comfortable around Switzerland, despite the arguments that they would get into after ten seconds in each other's company. Switzerland didn't like Poland, and vice-versa. Poland did bear a grudging respect for him, but that didn't mean Poland had to like him.

Poland's days went by uneventfully. He tried to pick up some Swiss-German. He wasn't faring too badly, if he dared say so himself. He understood enough to get the gist of the radio reports, and it was amusing to note that most of them mocked Germany. Despite Switzerland being surrounded on almost all fronts by German forces, the gutsy neutral nation continued to stand his ground.

This did change Poland's opinion of Switzerland slightly. Poland didn't _hate_ him – hatred was too intense. They had a relationship where Poland would taunt Switzerland, Switzerland would yell back, then everything would settle back as it was before. It wasn't friendship, but it wasn't enemy-ship either.

Being in the internment camp gave Poland lots of time to think, since there wasn't anything else to do. The first week's thoughts had been Poland feeling indignant about his predicament. The next week had been Poland grumbling about Switzerland's nastiness. The third had Poland trying to adapt to Switzerland's abrasive personality (and failing). The fourth went by with Poland trying to seek out the good in Switzerland.

Now it was the middle of the fifth week, and Poland was feeling depressed. Constantly having Switzerland in his mind did little for his sanity.

 _His lively eyes, his coarse hair, his slightly-chapped lips..._

Poland was a visual person. He judged many things by looks, he remembered things by how he had seen them, and he learnt best with visual aids. He could remember every inch of Switzerland's face by now.

 _His golden locks fall in choppy layers in the back. Most of his hair is tucked behind his ears except two thick side bangs which curves slightly around his cheeks. His fringe ends way above his eyebrows – it's too short. Seriously, does he cut his hair himself?_

 _He has the cutest button nose with nostrils that flare when he's annoyed. His thin lips are rather pale, but pink enough so he doesn't look sick. They're naturally parted slightly, except when he's talking – obviously – or when his lips are pressed together in disapproval._

Poland's felt his mood lifting. He was coming to the feature that he admired most about Switzerland. His eyes.

 _He has the most amazing eyes. They gleam like polished emeralds, yet they have this blue hue to them. It looks like a turquoise shade – yes, that's it, his eyes are turquoise! His eyes are so expressive, you can tell how he's feeling through his eyes. Well, that means he's mostly angry, but there are times when he's... Crestfallen. His eyes will darken like a stormy sea, and it's really so heartbreaking to—_

Wait, what?

Heartbreaking. Poland had used the word "heartbreaking".

What the heck? Switzerland being sad certainly didn't "break" Poland's heart. Poland didn't care what Switzerland felt. Maybe it's just because his green eyes reminded him of Lithuania, and Poland _hated_ seeing Lithuania sad. Yes, that's must be the reason!

 _You said Switzerland's eyes were turquoise. Not green._

"Shut up!" Poland shouted to no one in particular. A few other internees looked over, but dismissed it as Poland being eccentric again.

Poland staggered towards his bunk and curled up in it. His cheeks felt flushed. This shouldn't be happening to him. _Poland_ didn't blush. He only made people blush.

Poland half-wished France was here with him. France would definitely know what to do – once he got the sexual innuendoes out of the way, that is.

Seeing as Poland had nothing else to do besides lie on the bed, think about Switzerland and blush – the last two parts irked him greatly – Poland decided to turn on the radio. It would help him to take his mind off things.

 _"Here, soldiers of 1940, we will inspire ourselves with the lesson and spirit of the past to envisage resolution of the present and future of the country… Currently there are, beyond our borders, more troops – and excellent troops – than ever before. We can be attacked on all fronts at the same time, which was not really conceivable a few weeks ago."_

Poland struggled to understand the words. He was concentrating so much, he didn't hear the light footsteps along the corridor.

 _"The army must adapt itself to this new situation and take a position that allows it to hold on to all the fronts. It will thus fulfill its invariable, historic mission... In Europe, for a long time to come, millions of men will remain under arms, and as long as considerable forces can attack us from one moment to the next, the army must and will resist."_

"Listening to my General's speech?"

Switzerland's voice startled Poland. _Darn it! I was this close to translating the first part!_

"Oh, he's your General?" Poland inquired, his heart beginning to race. Look, Switzerland had caught him by surprise, it was only natural for his heart to speed up. It wasn't that he was feeling ecstatic about having Switzerland here or anything.

"Yeah."

Switzerland was a man of few words unless he was in a mood to preach, which happened much too often for Poland's liking. You had no idea how many times Poland was forced to sit through a lengthy lecture about how everyone was an idiot for participating in the war. Poland felt insulted at the beginning since he was also a participant of the war, but when Switzerland showed no signs of stopping his rant, Poland lost interest and began to rock on the bed. This only made Switzerland snap at him ("Hey! Listen when others are talking to you!") and Poland had to feign attentiveness for the next three speeches.

Thank goodness Switzerland didn't look like he was in a nagging mood today. In fact, his eyes sparked with excitement, and the smallest of tugs pulled at the side of his lips.

"You look happy," Poland observed.

"I am." Switzerland strolled towards Poland's bed. There was a spring in his step, making Poland feel even more weirded-out. What exactly was going on here?

"So... Why?" Poland asked when Switzerland didn't elaborate.

"Didn't you hear my General's speech?"

"No," Poland admitted. "I couldn't catch up."

"Oh." Switzerland made a move to sit on Poland's bed. Happiness was radiating off the Swiss, and it was plain _creepy_. "I'll tell you what he said!"

"Um... Sure," Poland accepted, scooting away to make room for Switzerland.

"Hope is not lost! My General has announced that everyone will be battle-ready in the event of an invasion. Our men are going to fight to the death! Even though we're completely surrounded, we'll resist all German forces!" Switzerland's bright eyes sought out Poland's. Poland was completely taken-aback to see tears brimming in Switzerland's eyes, and he fidgeted uncomfortably. "Do you understand, Poland? We'll never give up. We'll never surrender! My General has even told us to disregard any broadcast that said we've surrendered, because it's a lie to get us to stop fighting!"

"... Where's the real Switzerland and what have you, like, done with him?" Poland quipped uncertainly. This was too strange.

"Are you completely daft?" Switzerland scowled, a darker aura settling around him. "I'm the real Switzerland."

 _Switzerland's back again. Talk about crazy mood-swings._

"I think I like the previous Switzerland more," Poland jested. This wasn't entirely true. Poland had gotten used to Switzerland in all his grouchiness, and the happy Switzerland was much too cheery for him. Still, it was quite a refreshing change. He was reminded of his first impression of Switzerland, and he smiled disparagingly. How wrong his perception of Switzerland had been.

"I'm still me," Switzerland scoffed. Poland could tell that Switzerland was still feeling euphoric, by the way his body bounced almost imperceptibly on the bed. It seemed nothing could daunt Switzerland now.

Poland couldn't help but share Switzerland's joy. His elation was contagious, and because Switzerland was hardly ever happy, Poland felt the impact of it even more.

"Poland, I want you to continue your studies," Switzerland piped up suddenly.

"What?" Education wasn't exactly high on the list of Poland's priorities right now.

"Yeah, studies. Don't you know what that is?" Switzerland's glint in his eyes and joking tone told Poland that he didn't really mean it.

"I know!" Poland asserted indignantly. "But... How?"

"You can study in my universities," Switzerland told him.

"Really?"

"No, I was joking."

"Like, _really_?"

"You're really dense, aren't you?"

"Stop toying with me and, like, tell me the truth!"

"Okay, I meant it. I mean everything I say, Poland... Unless I state otherwise," Switzerland amended.

Poland's stomach fluttered a little. He felt a little woozy, from the way Switzerland teased him to how he had assured him that he meant every word he said. _I think I'm going to puke._

"I'll... Pass up on that offer," Poland murmured.

"Huh? Why?" Switzerland's joy diminished. Poland cringed, feeling rueful at being the one responsible for dampening his mood.

"I have some things I need to take care of first," Poland answered. "By the way, Switzerland is too long. I'll call you Schweiz." Hey, since Switzerland was still considerably happier than usual, might as well take advantage of it, right? This chance might never come by again.

"Schweiz? What?" Switzerland seemed puzzled by the digression of the conversation.

"Or maybe you'd like to be called Helvet—"

"No! No! Schweiz is okay." Switzerland peered at Poland. "Why Schweiz, anyway?"

"Because it's the German word for Switzerland," Poland explained.

"I _didn't_ know that." Switzerland's voice dripped sarcasm.

Poland beamed – a little wistfully, he might add. "I think it makes the countries feel closer to their people and more like themselves when I call them by their name in their own language."

Switzerland mulled over this. He didn't know there was actually a side to Poland that cared about other people. "So... You'll be Polska?"

Poland's beam grew wider. "Yes."

"Then I'll call you Polska," Switzerland proclaimed.

"And I'll call you Schweiz."

 **(25 July 1940: Henri Guisan made a speech announcing that Switzerland would fight on.)**

-o-

 **December 1940**

An officer hurried up to Switzerland. "Sir, I've been observing suspicious Polish behaviour in camp."

Switzerland groaned. Could things get even more messed-up? Not only was there a threat from Germany and his allies, there were also misfired bombs flung at him. Needless to say, Switzerland was _pissed_. He didn't need to deal with _this_ now, of all times. He was going to have a nice, long chat with Poland. Whatever "things" Poland needed to take care of must've resulted in this. He should've known better than to trust the Pole.

Nice... Poland... No, those two words definitely should not have been in the same sentence, unless there was a "not" before that, or "bashing" in between. Something along those lines, at least.

What could Poland be doing in the camp? That man had some nerve, coming in here, stealing his women and stirring up trouble for him.

Switzerland's thoughts drifted back to Poland. He was the one of the most infuriating people he had ever met, coming in at a close second, right after Austria, which was quite an amazing feat. Switzerland lamented inwardly about how this world was filled with idiots.

"So... What should we do?" his General prodded. Switzerland seemed to be getting angry for no reason, and he wanted to get away from his line of fire. Switzerland was infamous for his explosive temper.

"I'll deal with them myself. Thank you," Switzerland told the General, roused from his daydream (more like day-nightmare).

His General let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

Switzerland made his way towards the internment camp and sneaked in. He watched the Polish soldiers from the shadows.

"Secret military training?" Switzerland uttered disbelievingly. _Poland_ was organising secret military training? It sounded preposterous, but it was truly happening before his eyes. An idea began to take shape in his mind.

During their lunch break, Switzerland pulled Poland aside. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Such ominous words," Poland commented lightly, though his hair stood on end. What was happening now? Did Germany win the war?

"I've noticed," Switzerland began, "That you're carrying out secret military trainings."

Poland relaxed visibly. "That's right." Poland didn't see the need to deny it, since Switzerland obviously knew.

"I'll allow you to continue on the condition that you'll assist me in the event that German troops invade," Switzerland said, watching him like a hawk.

Poland could've laughed. Switzerland looked so serious even though it was such a small matter. "Of course! We were trained to fight!"

"Oh, good." Switzerland seemed relieved as well. "It'll be helpful to have additional troops on our side."

"So, is that all?" Poland inquired, letting his eyes stray to the tin of food before him.

"Y-Yeah, that's all." Switzerland took a step back. "You may continue."

Poland spooned the food into his mouth and chewed quickly before gesturing Switzerland over.

Switzerland wasn't too happy about being beckoned over, but he went anyway. "What?"

"This place is boring," Poland stated bluntly.

"I told you," Switzerland began irritably, then paused. Switzerland was low on manpower now since all the able-bodied men were aggressively protecting the borders. "No... I know something you can do."

Poland perked up. "Does it involve games?"

"Yeah, _games_ ," Switzerland sneered. "Let's play the game called 'Plant crops' and 'Build roads'."

"That doesn't sound very fun," Poland complained through mouthfuls of food.

Switzerland tittered in annoyance, pulling a napkin out of his pocket. "Swallow your food before speaking! Ugh!" He approached Poland and swiped his mouth quickly.

Whatever comprehensible thoughts Poland had after that were wiped off along with the bits of food. He stared at Switzerland with wide eyes, feeling his heart take on a galloping rhythm.

Switzerland didn't like the look Poland was giving him. "What?" he demanded.

Poland shook his head to recover himself, but his face still felt uncomfortably warm. "N-Nothing. Hey, Schweiz, can I start studying instead?"

Switzerland gave Poland a scathing look. "You slacker." His tone of voice suggested that he didn't take it too hard, though. "Nevertheless, I'm glad you're studying."

"I'm not," Poland interjected brightly. "But, like, anything to get out of work!"

Switzerland shoved Poland lightly on his shoulder. There was a hint of a smile, concealed by layers of worry, lethargy and angst that had taken its toll on what would've been a handsome face.

Poland didn't know what to think. He _couldn't_ think, not with the blood rushing to his head and his stomach knotting up. Switzerland was making him feel queasy – okay, he had always made him feel queasy, but queasy in the I-want-to-puke-in-terror way, and not I-want-you-to-make-me-feel-better way.

Well, triple _shit_.

 **(In the autumn of 1940, Polish soldiers carried out secret military training. Switzerland turned a blind eye to it because they recognised the need for the soldiers to be prepared for battle, and the Polish soldiers could help them fight invaders.**

 **December 1940: Riots in Switzerland. Some Polish troops were shot and wounded. After the riots, the Swiss government decided to give the Polish soldiers something to do.)**

* * *

 **Sorry for the absence! My hand hurts from using the computer too much at work :( Never thought I'd see the day when I'd actually get tired of using the computer. xP**


	5. Suspicion

**Warning: Personified countries, crack pairing, some human names are used.**

 **This is a Hetalia: Axis Powers fan-fiction, which means the characters are personifications of countries. The characters are, however, in no way representative of the actual countries or her people. This fan-fiction does not accurately depict what happened between the nations. No offence is intended to the countries mentioned in this fan-fiction.**

 **Disclaimer: Axis Powers: Hetalia does not belong to me, it belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya.**

* * *

 **January 1941**

"And stay out!" Switzerland yelled after the French soldiers trooping away towards Vichy France.

"Switzerland, be nice," his General chided.

"They were infringing on us," Switzerland muttered, averting his gaze.

His General smiled tiredly. "They did help. Anyway, since there's nothing much to do now, why don't you go spend time with, uh, Poland?"

"Why would I want to spend time with that fool?" Switzerland scowled, then he noticed his General's gaze on something behind him. Switzerland swivelled around.

There was a head poking through the door. The sleek blonde hair was a dead giveaway. None of the Poles had such shiny hair, since they actually _did_ work, and their hair had been weathered by the biting winds and scorching sun rays. Poland, on the other hand, went to "school".

Yeah, right. _School._

Switzerland had very kindly offered to subsidise Poland's school fees... On a few conditions.

 _"One, you'd better study hard! I'm not letting my money go to waste! Two, you have to clean your own room! Three, you have to help with the chores! Four, don't you dare lay a hand on Liechtenstein! Five, the same applies to my goats and guns!"_

Poland had agreed, but he didn't seem too happy about it. That criminally cute pout on his face nearly convinced Switzerland to withdraw the terms, but Switzerland knew there had to be _some_ semblance of order around his house. It wasn't like Switzerland was expecting much from Poland. Still, it was worth a shot, right?

Switzerland turned out to be correct. Poland didn't abide by any of the rules, and Switzerland wondered why he didn't just shoot Poland for being completely useless around here. He was absolutely certain Poland lazed around the house whenever Switzerland wasn't in – Poland's school books were still in their box. He claimed that he'd go to school once he felt like it, which was probably _never_.

Thankfully Switzerland hadn't paid the school fees for that term, it'd be an utter waste of money.

Switzerland had to grudgingly concede that Poland did entertain Liechtenstein when he wasn't around, though. The quality of Poland's company was questionable, but Liechtenstein seemed happier these days. _Happy doing what?_

Switzerland burned with curiosity to know what they were doing, so on one occasion, when he came home early from work, he decided to peek at them. Liechtenstein was just innocently sewing while Poland dozed next to her.

Okay, at least Poland wasn't teaching her deplorable things.

"You're not needed here," his General hinted, drawing him out of his incensed reverie. "Might as well go."

"B-Be that way! I-I guess I'll go," Switzerland relented. He could feel Poland's harlequin gaze on him, and all of a sudden, his body temperature shot up.

His General raised an eyebrow, a mischievous look passing over his face. "Go on."

Switzerland stalked out of the room. What exactly was his General trying to do?

"The French troops are gone!" Poland exclaimed.

"Yeah, it was safe for them to return when the ceasefire in France was announced," Switzerland explained.

Poland's eyes gleamed. "So it's just you and me now, Schweiz!"

Switzerland's insides squirmed uncomfortably. "Your point? A-And who gave you permission to leave my house, anyway?"

"Polish rule." Poland thrust his palm at Switzerland's face in a "talk to the hand" manner. "Polish rule states that I can, like, do whatever I want!"

"Cut the crap," Switzerland snarled. "What are you doing outside? You're flirting with the women, aren't you?"

Poland gasped theatrically. "Of course not! Why would I flirt with women when I have a man?"

Oh. Countries were usually receptive to anything, so it really shouldn't have been that much of a surprise that Poland was gay. Switzerland still felt as if a lightning bolt had struck him, though.

"Ah... Who's the unlucky man?" Switzerland inquired teasingly. He definitely did _not_ feel jealous.

"I'll tell you when you tell me yours!" Poland sang.

"I-I don't have any!" Switzerland stammered, turning red.

"Oh, really?" Poland sidled up next to Switzerland coolly. "I don't believe you. You're blushing." It was actually pretty fun to get the Swiss riled-up. His reactions were priceless.

Switzerland turned so red, the colour of his cheeks spilled over into the purple spectrum. Poland giggled. "Just kidding, Schweiz! Who'd like a grump like you anyway?"

 **(January 1941: French troops left Switzerland.)**

-o-

 **August 1942**

It was a weekend, so Poland didn't have to go to school. Now the both of them were sitting around the table eating a bit of stale bread. Poland had his Mathematics textbook out, though he was studiously ignoring it, while Switzerland had laid out a few weapons for polishing.

"Did I really do that?" Switzerland moaned. Poland was very graciously detailing how Switzerland had flounced about gaily on the day Switzerland's boss made the announcement that they'd never surrender.

Poland smiled wryly. "Yes, you did."

"Kill me." Switzerland buried his head in his hands.

Poland rested his cheek on his balled-up fist as he watched Switzerland demonstrate how to turn from peach to fire-engine red. "Chill, Schweiz. You were rather cute."

Switzerland blushed even harder. "W-What are you saying?! I-I'll shoot you till you become Swiss cheese, s-see how cute you think I-I am afterwards!"

Poland tried to contain a chortle. Switzerland made tonnes of empty threats. At least, to him, because he had seen how Switzerland shot down all the planes from other countries without hesitation.

Biting off a bit of the bread, Poland let his gaze trail over Switzerland again. "Tell me some rad stories about your capital."

Switzerland calmed down somewhat. "M-My capital? Ah... O-Okay." He recollected his thoughts, hoping to get every detail right. "Bern was found by Berchtold the Fifth, the Duke of Zähringen. He vowed to name the city after the first animal he met on a hunt, and the animal was a bear. Berchtold the Fourth built a small castle to guard the Aare River, and it stood between the German-speakers and French-speakers."

Poland forced himself to keep listening, although this story was even more boring than Lithuania's – something he hadn't thought was conceivable, but Switzerland proved him wrong.

Since focusing on the story seemed impossible, Poland resolved to maintain eye-contact with Switzerland. This shouldn't be too hard – Switzerland had the most vibrant eyes ever.

Too bad Switzerland's eyes were closed. Poland settled for the creases near the inside corner of Switzerland's eye instead.

Switzerland was now droning on about the Holy Roman Empire.

... He had really nice creases. They made his eyes look younger and more sunken.

"—and the Swiss Confederation was formed. That's when I was born. I was pretty greedy back then, fighting all my neighbours and seizing their lands." Switzerland gave a woeful smile at the memory. "That's it," he concluded. "Now it's your turn."

Poland clapped his hands together. He was glad he actually listened to the last part of his historical report – he was intrigued at this little snippet from Switzerland's past. Poland hadn't a clue Switzerland had an expansionist streak in him. "Right! So, like, my story is about my capital Krakow and how there was a really scary dragon living in the caves, like, beneath the castle and stuff. He, like, totally ate all sorts of stuff and ran amok, so a smart prince, like, went to slay him. So he went and, like, fought the dragon. _Totally gnarly._ "

Switzerland listened in amusement. Poland made it sound like one huge joke. In fact, everything he did transformed into a huge joke. It was adorable. "This story is so thrilling," Switzerland deadpanned.

"I know! Anyway, it was, like, majorly gross and the prince saw it and was all thinking, 'This is totally gnarly!' and, like, knew he had to slay it. Then after that, the prince used his wits and, like, slain the dragon by feeding him sulphur. And so peace came to the capital and the prince became our hero."

"'A plus' for story-telling," Switzerland hummed in approval.

"Yeah! It's totally rad, isn't it?" Poland enthused.

Switzerland gave a noncommittal grunt. "Yeah."

Seeing as the conversation was over, both males went back to their tasks at hand.

Fifteen minutes later, Poland looked up from his textbook to the Swiss across from him. The Mathematical formulas swam across his eyes, and boy, did his eyes _burn_.

"Hey, Schweiz," Poland called.

"What?" Switzerland growled, using a blackened cloth to scrape at the dirt on his rifle.

"Why did you, like, help me?"

"Why do you have to ask that question?!" Switzerland exclaimed, rubbing at the dirt more furiously.

"I'm curious," Poland stated frankly.

"And I'm not answering," Switzerland fired back.

"Fine." Poland turned his attention back to his textbook.

Switzerland glanced up. Poland was giving up? That was so unlike him. Switzerland opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again as he observed the Pole scanning the book before him zealously, seeming completely unperturbed.

Poland felt Switzerland's eyes on him. He stifled a giggle and burst out, "This is reverse psychology, Schweiz!"

"What?" Switzerland scowled, slightly annoyed that Poland had ruined the grand moment of truth.

"It's like, if I tell you _not_ to do something, you'd do it!" Poland crowed.

"And...?" Switzerland prompted, not fathoming how that had anything to do with whatever had just taken place.

"So, like, if I suddenly act in a manner you didn't expect in response to your usual reaction, you'd respond differently!"

Switzerland frowned, uncomprehending. The words had blurred together halfway through the sentence. "I don't get it."

"You were supposed to tell me in the end," Poland whinged. "Or... How about... Polish rule activated! You have to tell me the reason why you saved me now!"

Switzerland rolled his eyes. He _had_ been on the verge of spilling the beans to Poland, but Poland had effectively ruined the mood.

No way was Switzerland going to listen to this "Polish rule" nonsense. He wasn't going to let Poland have his way this time – it would've wounded his pride. This meant that now he was spared from going through a cheesy explanation as to why he saved Poland.

No, Switzerland did _not_ feel the slightest bit of regret for not being able to tell Poland. Seriously, he didn't even _want_ to tell Poland in the first place.

"Wonderful. Keep studying, I can see you totally understand what is being taught," Switzerland deadpanned. "Or rather, not taught at all," he added, catching a glimpse of the textbook title.

Poland shut the book with a bang and a laugh. "I'm bored! I want food!"

"There's cheese in the fridge," Switzerland informed him, setting his rifle aside and beginning to work on his shotgun. Cheese was rarer now that it was being rationed. "I would like you to be thankful."

"We should go out," Poland declared, as if he hadn't heard Switzerland at all. He placed his hand on his hip and surveyed the room with distaste.

"Uh," Switzerland grunted, never once looking up. It wasn't until he felt cold hands on his shoulders that Switzerland finally bolted upright. "H-Hey!"

"Oh, you're warm..." Poland let his hands run over Switzerland's arms, pressing his face against his back. His heart was swelling with mirth. This was probably the closest he'd ever get to Switzerland, since that guy was as prickly as a nettle and hated his guts.

"What the hell are you doing? Get your hands off me this instant!" Switzerland snarled.

Like Poland said, Switzerland hated his guts. He was probably only putting up with him because he was cheap labour.

Poland peeled himself away, trying not to appear glum. He hurriedly tried to formulate some kind of cover-up. "Um, so, now that I've gotten your attention... Is there any Polish food here? I miss Polish food..."

"You could cook some," Switzerland suggested. "But don't deplete our supplies. We're low on butter."

"Schweiz, you obviously haven't gotten it into your mind that I don't do work." Poland waggled his finger at Switzerland with mock disdain.

"Why am I wasting my time with you, then?" Switzerland grumbled, though he didn't really mean it. Poland was extremely demanding, but having him around lessened the weight on his shoulders.

Just a little.

And he didn't mean it literally – not when Poland's hands were pressing down on his shoulders.

"Schweiz, cook for me!"

"I don't know how to cook Polish food," Switzerland mumbled.

"I'll teach you." Poland yanked Switzerland up, causing the gun to slip out of his grasp.

"H-Hey!" Switzerland protested, attempting to pull away. Despite Poland's slender build, he was pretty strong.

The telephone rang, causing the both of them to jump in surprise.

"Huh? That's strange." Switzerland wrenched his arm out of Poland's grip and ambled towards the phone. Poland trailed behind Switzerland with every intention of eavesdropping.

"Don't be a busybody," Switzerland reproved half-heartedly, picking up the phone. "Uh, Switzerland here."

"Switzerland, this is Germany."

Switzerland felt as if a bucket of cold water had been flung over him. "What do you want, Germany?"

Yelling could be heard on Germany's side. Germany's snappish reply had been muffled, then Germany sighed loudly into the phone. "My... Boss wants me to tell you that you possess the most disgusting and miserable people and political system."

"... Is that so? Well, thank your Boss for his enlightening words. Your Boss isn't doing a better job," Switzerland spat.

More yelling. Switzerland could make out a few distinct curses.

"And..." Germany's voice was controlled. "He called you a pimple on the face of Europe."

"A pimple?" Poland, who had been obtrusively pressing his head against the receiver and giving Switzerland a mouthful of Polish hair, wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Pimples are so uncool."

"Is... Is that Poland with you?" Germany breathed.

"Yes. If you only called to insult me, this conversation is over," Switzerland snapped.

"Tell that wayward German that our army is 20 times his size!" someone – presumably Germany's Boss – yelled.

"That means each man has to shoot twenty times," Switzerland countered, even though Germany's Boss hadn't been speaking to him directly. "And I'm not German, I'm Swiss."

"Switzerland," Germany hissed. "Stop provoking him. He's furious enough as it is." A pause, then the sound of something smashing. "I need to go now. Be careful."

With that, Germany hung up. Switzerland continued to hold the phone against his ear for a few more seconds, then slammed it down. He didn't know what to think now. He felt hopeless, lost, agonised, indignant, terrified and completely pissed.

"You're nothing like a pimple," Poland consoled cheerily. "Pimples are, like, red and painful and gross."

"That helps a lot." Switzerland forced himself to smile, but it ended up as a grimace.

"Anything for my Schweiz!" Poland beamed. He hated that Switzerland had been insulted, and he hated the pained look on his face.

" _Your_ Schweiz?" Switzerland echoed. Switzerland had to admit that didn't sound too bad – nice, even – but Switzerland wasn't property that anyone could just claim.

Poland's heart gave a twinge. Was that disgust he heard in Switzerland's voice? "Y-Yeah, _my_ Schweiz, because... Because you're my friend!" he backtracked. It absolutely wouldn't do to scare Switzerland away now. Not when he knew that having Switzerland out of his life meant that a part of him would wilt away.

 _What's gotten into you, Polska? Did his coldness freeze the undying spirit of the flaming phoenix?_

Poland patted Switzerland on the shoulder, trying to clear his mind. "I'll make the Polish food," he offered in an elusive show of kindness.

" _We'll_ make it together," Switzerland corrected, recomposing himself and running his hand through his fringe. Sweat had broken out on his forehead during the phone call, and now his hair stood up in little tufts.

 _Could he get any cuter?_ Poland thought miserably, skipping towards the kitchen. Maybe as long as his footfalls were light, his heart would be, too. "Bring me some meat, Schweiz!" he called.

"There are two things wrong with that statement!" Switzerland shouted back. "One, you single-handedly guzzled this entire week's supply of meat yesterday, and two, do I look like your maid?!"

Poland walked out, leaned against the doorframe and stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hm... You'd look more like one if you had a maid dress."

"What?! You sick creature!" Switzerland roared, lunging towards the Pole.

Poland ducked at the last minute and hooked an arm around Switzerland's shin, recalling romantic scenarios he had seen in those cheesy novels Latvia read all the time. _Tripping seems to be an effective method of, like, getting two people together._

Switzerland lurched forward, throwing his arm out to break his fall (and possibly break his wrist).

His palm met bone with a crunch.

Searing pain shot through Poland's head.

 _I'm going to have to discuss some things with the author of those books Latvia reads._

-o-

"How many times has it been?" Switzerland scolded for the fifth time today. "How many times? Tell me!"

"Fifty-one times."

"Fifty-two!" Switzerland screamed. After four times of asking, you'd think Poland would finally get the answer right. "This is the fifty-second time you've gotten injured!"

It had been partly his fault, but if Poland hadn't tripped him in the first place, Poland wouldn't be lying in bed with a cracked skull, and Switzerland, on the chair opposite with a fractured wrist.

"That's what phoenixes are supposed to do. They burn and rise from the ashes!" Poland declared with a weak grin.

"It doesn't work that way at all!" Switzerland thrust his uninjured hand in his pocket and paced around the small guest room. "Seriously, I can't wait until you go back to your home."

Poland's mind went blank for that few seconds after Switzerland had spoken. The thought of leaving the irritable Swiss filled him with dismay, but the crushing blow was the actual words that Switzerland had said. Evidently, Switzerland didn't want Poland to be here.

Poland swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. "What? But... I don't want to..."

Switzerland was by Poland's bed in a flash, his jade eyes shooting daggers at him. "That's not how the world works at all! You don't always get what you want!"

 _I'm starting to believe that that might actually be true,_ Poland sniffed as he gazed at the Swiss next to him.

Switzerland took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. In a softer voice, he added, "But maybe, if you work hard enough, you'll get it."

"I haven't been working much at all," Poland admitted.

"I'm glad you realised!"

Poland couldn't help but smile at Switzerland's affronted expression. "But this... Is different. I totally need someone else's approval for me to succeed."

"That's stupid. Why would you need someone else's approval? It's your life, isn't it?" Switzerland retorted.

"Because it's about time I stop being so selfish," Poland murmured. He reminisced back to the old days, when he had dragged an unwilling Lithuania on all of his suicidal missions – such as trying to obtain material to blackmail Russia – without caring about what the other thought.

It was Poland's good fortune that Lithuania was quite tolerant. Imagine if he had Sweden for a partner. Poland would probably never return home due to fear.

"Schweiz, you're, like, a totally good guy," Poland said wistfully.

"No, I'm not." Switzerland gave Poland an once-over. "What's wrong? Are you suffering from some kind of brain damage?"

"Ha ha," Poland deadpanned. He felt so conflicted inside. A part of him wanted to tell him what he truly felt about Switzerland.

Then again, what _did_ he feel? Sure, Switzerland was kind to him, but his judgement was slightly skewed, since he hadn't exactly been on the receiving end of much kindness from other nations. Poland didn't really understand what it was like to be treated like a friend; with Lithuania, Poland had always lorded over him, and with the German brothers and Russia, Poland had been like some kind of maggot under their boot.

So… Was that it? Was Poland feeling grateful for Switzerland's friendship?

Then why did his body constantly flush hot and cold at the same time when Switzerland was around? _Friends_ didn't make people feel like that, and it wasn't as if Switzerland was heartthrob material – definitely not enough to make Poland swoon.

"Maybe I'm just having a fever," Poland concluded.

* * *

 **Do you ever read something and cringe so bad? This is me with my story now, but this happens ALL the time anyway. As I grow older (and hopefully more mature!), I read something I wrote years back and die internally...**


	6. Satisfaction

**Warning: Personified countries, crack pairing, some human names are used.**

 **This is a Hetalia: Axis Powers fan-fiction, which means the characters are personifications of countries. The characters are, however, in no way representative of the actual countries or her people. This fan-fiction does not accurately depict what happened between the nations. No offence is intended to the countries mentioned in this fan-fiction.**

 **Disclaimer: Axis Powers: Hetalia does not belong to me, it belongs to Hidekazu Himaruya.**

* * *

 **1 April 1944**

Switzerland was barely home nowadays. He was too busy chasing planes and tending to injured Americans who crash-landed in his country. This war was taking a toll on him even though he wasn't even involved.

Poland opened up his photo album. It was one of the things he had managed to smuggle into Switzerland, and he was glad he did. He skimmed through all the pictures, his eyes misting up. _Lithuania, Lithuania, Estonia and Latvia, Italy, Sweden's face, Lithuania, Prussia, more Lithuania, Russia..._

He frowned at the last picture. Russia, the bane of his existence.

Poland shut the book with a bang. It gave him a cheap thrill to feel that Russia's face was getting smashed. Unfortunately, the other side was Lithuania's face, so he was kissing him. _No! It's a faceplant, not a kiss!_

A shudder went through Poland's body. _Darn Russia,_ he groused.

Anyway, it was a clear day out, and Poland didn't want to foul his mood by thinking about what Russia could be doing to Lithuania at the moment. What better way to brighten his day than explore beautiful Switzerland?

Poland skipped outside. He hadn't ventured to the north of Switzerland yet – it was too close to Germany for comfort. It was still in Switzerland, though, and Germany didn't have the guts to set foot in Switzerland. _Hah,_ Poland crowed. _Switzerland will protect me._

Poland's eyes narrowed into mere slits. How did this change happen? Since when did he ever need protection from others? He was a fabulous phoenix, for goodness' sake.

"Stop thinking so much," Poland complained to the dust motes floating about in the sunlight. The dust motes shimmered in agreement.

Poland had to concede that _something_ had changed between him and Switzerland. Switzerland wasn't as harsh as he used to be – in fact, he was quite the softie, if those drawings were of any indication.

Of _course_ Poland had seen the drawings. He had the house to himself most of the time, and Liechtenstein was his accomplice when it came to digging out Switzerland's secrets.

So now Poland knew Switzerland wore frilly pink pyjamas and kept stuffed toys on his bed.

Liechtenstein had even proudly showed him her collection of Switzerland's drawings. They were, um, nice. Nice if a three-year old had done it, that is.

Still, it was something endearing about Switzerland. He seemed so cold and aloof, but deep down, he was a total marshmallow. Poland clutched his chest, where his heart lay, dramatically. Switzerland was adorable. So, so adorable.

Switzerland haunted every waking moment of his life, and his dreams. Though "haunted" wasn't a proper word to use. "Graced" might've been better, but that was going overboard. Sure, Poland liked Switzerland, but it wasn't like his presence caused rainbows to erupt in the sky.

Which made Poland wonder, _why?_ Why did he even like Switzerland that much? The Swiss only made biting remarks and scorned him. It was fun to make him flustered, but that exhilaration he felt after that wasn't— Oh, look at those fabulous pink shoes!

Glueing his eyes on the pink shoes in front of him, he followed the owner of the shoes till the surroundings changed.

Poland had entered a town filled with rows of houses. It was a really pretty town – just like every other district in Switzerland.

 _No wonder Switzerland is so pretty,_ Poland joked. Switzerland was nowhere near "pretty". He was majestic, intimidating, intense. _And adorable._

There were screams of airplanes as they whizzed past, then multiple bangs sounded. The sound reverberated all around Poland, shaking his eardrums to the core. People screamed.

 _What's happening?_

Smoke twirled towards the sky from a distance. Then, red-hot agony exploded in Poland's body, consuming every single nerve fibre in his being. He saw the red-stained ground rise up to meet him. His hand thumped on the gravel, chafing the base of his palm. That pain was nothing compared to everything else he was feeling, though.

-o-

Pain seared his left shoulder, and he doubled-over in pain, clutching the affected area.

"Switzerland, sir! Your town has just gotten bombed!"

Switzerland squeezed his shoulder and stood up. "Again?!" he cried. "Who's the culprit? He's going to get an earful from me! But first, I have to check on my people!"

"It's America, sir. I'll handle this," his Minister offered.

"Please do." Switzerland bowed his head, one hand still grasping his shoulder tightly. Then he spun around and marched out of the office.

Switzerland ran to the northern canton so fast, he could've argued that it was a _teleport_. The place lay in ruins. Rubble lay scattered around the streets, and the tiny figures of people darted around fearfully.

The burning in his shoulder intensified. _Damned good-for-nothing countries,_ he fumed, picking his way across the rubble. A single trail of blood oozed out from under a pile of concrete, running along the grooves in the road.

Switzerland knelt down and heaved a cement block away. Blood meant people. There was still a chance someone was buried under the debris, in misery, but alive.

The least-injured civilians came out to help. Many wailed for the loss of their family and friends. Switzerland's heart felt like it got stomped on. His people were crying – crying about something that could've been avoided, had a _certain_ nation been more careful. He felt like a defusing bomb – something that he shouldn't use to describe himself in this context. The skin on his shoulder pulsated in time with his hammering heart. He picked up the phone and dialled America's number in a rage.

"Yo, Switz—"

"You know I got bombed? What the hell is the meaning of this? Don't you know I have no part in your stupid war games? I've had it with you and your bombs! I've had it—"

" _You_ got bombed?" America interrupted, sounding genuinely astonished.

Switzerland felt his irritation growing, especially because America had cut him off mid-rant. "Yes, I got bombed! The entire town is in ruins! Hundreds of people died!"

"Oh, shit." America placed his hand over the phone to muffle the receiver and hollered something. Then his obnoxiously loud voice was back. "Switzerland, I'm really sorry! It wasn't intentional, I swear!"

Switzerland found this utterly ridiculous. "What do you mean by it 'wasn't intentional'? You obviously knew this was _my_ town! Think about all the invaluable historical buildings destroyed! Think about all the innocent lives lost! That's something that can never be replaced!"

"The radar was faulty! It told us we were over Germany! So once there was a break in the clouds and we saw a river, it was bombs away!"

"I don't believe you! The weather over here was clear, there wasn't a single cloud in the sky! And you can't just judge a town by a single river! Not only did you miss the town you were aiming for, you missed the _entire freaking country_!"

"I'm so sorry, Switzerland," America whimpered. He certainly couldn't afford to get into Switzerland's bad – (badder?) – books. "The most I can do now is pay reparations."

"You know what else you can do?" Switzerland snapped. "Stop flying over my land! You've violated my airspace over and over again! You bombed my country because you have absolutely _no_ consideration for my personal space! This is the last straw! I hate you! I hate you all!"

Switzerland let the phone slip from his grasp and sank to his knees, the tears flowing freely now. He worked so hard to maintain his position as a neutral, but no one ever respected him. He felt like he was being dragged, kicking and screaming, into a war he wasn't involved in. It wasn't fair. Let the others play their childish games. All he wanted was stability.

"Schweiz..."

Switzerland's head shot up. The tears dried in his eyes instantly, but tell-tale tear-stains still remained.

A pale hand was quivering from beneath the pile of crumbled buildings remains. Switzerland felt his heart stop for what seemed like an entire minute.

 _Poland is in there. Poland is hurt. Poland needs help._

Switzerland sprang into action. The pain in his shoulder now felt like interference in a television, but occasionally a stab of pain would shoot through and cause him to wince. Switzerland pushed all the rocks above Poland away until he could see the Pole.

Blood trickled out from a huge gash in Poland's head, coagulating in a pool at his eyebrow. Poland's light green eyes met Switzerland's. His eyes looked so bleak, Switzerland felt like a huge fist just slammed into his stomach.

"Polska..." Switzerland whispered, shoving a cement block away with his thigh.

Poland blinked and the puddle of blood spilled over his brow. He coughed throatily.

"I'll get you help right away. Wait here," Switzerland instructed, already backing away.

Poland tried to rasp out, "No," but his head felt heavy and his throat tight. So all he could do was watch Switzerland, tense, jittery Switzerland, bark out orders as he bustled around. He didn't glance Poland's way once. He continually ran from victim to victim, murmuring encouraging words, but never to Poland.

Hands slipped under Poland. "You'll be alright," an unfamiliar voice reassured him. The hands were large and gentle, not like Switzerland's. Poland let himself relax into the man's arms, then he was lifted up and placed on a gurney.

Switzerland never looked at him.

It was hopeless. _Poland_ was hopeless. Was it no wonder Switzerland didn't _see_ him? His country was no more, he shouldn't even be here.

What was it that Poland tried so hard for? He didn't know anymore.

Poland let himself go.

 **(1 April 1944: Bombs released over Schaffhausen, Switzerland, resulting in many fatalities and extensive damage. America apologised and compensated Switzerland.)**

-o-

 **A few days later**

"Polska, Polska, please wake up," Switzerland wept. Poland had been in a coma for a few days. Switzerland worried that this was the end for him. He knew that Poland was no longer a country. Could this have been the final push that sent Poland, the personification of the now non-existent nation, spiralling towards his demise?

"Polska," Switzerland tried again, softer this time. Guilt ravaged his soul. He hadn't been able to save the hundreds of people who had died during the bombing. He had he let them down. Especially _Poland_.

Switzerland hadn't been able to look into Poland's desolate eyes, because he wouldn't be able to handle the hurt in those once-exuberant eyes. Seeing Poland, agonised and wounded, was too much of a blow for him.

It was then Switzerland knew, without a doubt, that he wanted to protect Poland. The fact that Poland was no longer was a country made him all the more fragile.

Switzerland's hand inexplicably gravitated towards Poland's bandaged arm. He wanted to feel his being, to make sure he was still tangible.

Poland looked up then, his bright green gaze spearing right into Switzerland. "Sorry, Schweiz, but I'm not dying so easily. I've been partitioned three times, a whack to the head is nothing, _kochanie_ ," Poland boasted.

Switzerland felt his heart skip a beat. "I-I'm glad you're alright," Switzerland said impassively, swiping his eyes quickly. He was overjoyed; words couldn't even begin to describe the elation he felt, but he couldn't let Poland know he was crying. What would Poland think of him then? A grown man like him, tearing up over another man...

Poland's eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the Swiss. _Seriously, I nearly died and this is how Schweiz reacts when he finds out I'm okay?_

This time, Poland wasn't going to merely _discuss_ some things with the author of those books Latvia reads, he was going to have a freaking lecture.

"Wait... What'd you say 'sorry' for?" Switzerland queried, shifting his body weight so he was leaning away from Poland. He had been a tad too close. Poland might not feel comfortable with it. He nearly lost Poland once. He couldn't lose him as a friend now.

"Like, aren't you disappointed?" Poland asked. This was something he wanted to know. Did Switzerland actually care if he was here or not? Poland had been close to disappearing, but he _needed_ to know this first. He wouldn't be able to rest peacefully without knowing the answer.

Switzerland felt his attention drawn to Poland. There was something about his tone of voice that seemed almost... Inquiring. It wasn't the usual mocking tone.

"N-No. Who's going to work for me if you died?" Switzerland huffed. This wasn't true, but Switzerland would rather stuff a boot down his throat than admit his feelings. _And_ you _tell others to state their own opinions._

Poland felt his heart crash into the core of the Earth. _Switzerland only thinks of me as a worker... But it's not like I care! I'll stay here as long as I want to!_ "That's cute," he cooed with as much perkiness as he could muster.

Blood rushed to Switzerland's cheeks. "What's so cute about that?!"

Poland sniggered. It was easier to pretend he didn't care. "Your face is totally hilarious right now!" _Not to mention simply adorable!_ Too bad that Switzerland would never be his. He had made his feelings too painfully clear.

"Hey, answer my question!" Switzerland pressed.

"You wanna know what's cute?" Poland questioned. When Switzerland didn't reply, Poland shifted on the bed and plopped his head down on Switzerland's lap – a brazen move on his part – and flashed him a smile. "You."

Switzerland's mind went blank, at the fact that Poland had called him cute – again – and because of the body contact between them. Blood rushed through his body at the same time his muscles tensed, making him feel hot and cold simultaneously. This shouldn't be happening. He should be turning Poland into Swiss cheese right now, not... Melting like hot Swiss cheese.

Poland couldn't read Switzerland's expression. Was he happy? Sad? Angry?

Poland threw caution to the wind; there was no point harbouring feelings for someone without telling them. He didn't care if his feelings weren't reciprocated. He just wanted Switzerland to know, at the very least.

Poland had lived with enough regret. If he were to disappear, he didn't want to be burdened by untold secrets. "You know, even if you hate me, it doesn't change the fact that I totally like you." _Smooth, Poland, real smooth._ Well, the words were out now, there was nothing he could do about it.

Switzerland froze.

Poland gazed into Switzerland's eyes, praying for a positive response. If that was too much to ask for, a neutral response would be alright too. Anything would be better than a furious rejection.

Switzerland's mind raced. What exactly did Poland mean? Did Poland like him? What kind of "like" was it? Friendship? Admiration? Attraction?

... Love?

Out of all the crazy words that tumbled around in Switzerland's mind in response, the words "Tell me" just had to fall out. Switzerland wanted to dig a hole in the ground and just die inside.

"Tell you what, Schweiz?" To say that Poland was surprised would've been an understatement. He was completely dumbfounded. Switzerland hadn't given him a flat-out "no", which was a good sign, right? The optimist in Poland certainly hoped so.

Switzerland pulled his thoughts together. He couldn't get ahead of himself now. Poland had shown nothing but dislike towards him these two years. Dislike couldn't evolve to love in two years. It was too much of a stretch.

Then again, Switzerland did feel _something_ for Poland, although he had started off with animosity as well. It was something Switzerland couldn't fathom. Why did he feel more smiley when Poland was around? It sounded gay – really gay in the homosexual sense – but Switzerland felt his heart pump faster whenever Poland's name cropped up or at the prospect of seeing him again.

"Tell me... Is it love?"

 _Love._

Was this what Poland felt?

"If it means I want to keep you by my side forever, then yes, it's love," Poland replied honestly.

"But I can't keep you here forever," Switzerland responded, his stomach coiling up in dismay. Switzerland knew he'd never be good enough for Poland. Even the Swiss females preferred Poland. Poland could've had anyone he wanted, why _him_?

The dam within him was cracking. Now he knew that Poland liked – _loved_ him, and Switzerland returned the affections, but this relationship would come at a huge price. "Who knows when Germany will invade and snatch you away?"

Poland reached over to squeeze Switzerland's shoulders. "It doesn't matter, Schweiz. Give this a chance."

"I can't!" Switzerland yelled, tears welling up in his eyes as he clenched his fists. "It'll hurt you. _I'll_ hurt you. I don't want you to be hurt."

"You won't," Poland insisted, rapidly scanning his brain for some romantic snippets to convince Switzerland. Ah! Found one! Finally, Latvia's silly stories could be of use. "How can something that makes me so happy hurt me?"

Okay, not the best quote to use.

Switzerland sniffed. "You're an idiot." Yet the tears were still falling, and Poland knew he wasn't thinking about Poland, but the both of them as a whole.

"Shut up." Poland stood up, walking behind Switzerland, and pressed down on Switzerland's shoulders, forcing him down on the bed.

Switzerland opened his eyes, and Poland was once again struck by how beautiful Switzerland's eyes were. Even though they were red and puffy and wet, the fierce passion of his personality still shone through.

Poland kissed Switzerland's cheek. "Don't cry, _kochanie_."

"T-They're tears of joy, y-you moron!" Switzerland couldn't believe himself. Did he just _cry_ because someone – someone silly, spoilt, irresponsible and infuriating, no less – had implied that they liked him in a less-than-chaste manner? _No wonder you have no lovers,_ his inner critic taunted.

"Okay, keep crying," Poland purred.

At least Switzerland wasn't the worst lover out there. Seriously, what kind of lover would tell their partner to keep crying?

Switzerland placed his arms around Poland. Poland's eyes widened – he had the most gorgeous eyes, when they weren't half-closed lazily. His eyes were the colour of dewy grass, and they always looked so devious, like Poland had something exciting up his sleeve. It was one of the things Switzerland liked – no, _loved_ – about Poland. There was never a dull day with him around.

Now it was Poland's turn to weep. He pressed his face into Switzerland's neck, his voice muffled by thick sobs and hair. "I love you. I don't care if you don't."

"Silly Polska." Switzerland stroked the Pole's silky blonde hair. It was another thing Switzerland loved about Poland – he had hair so similar to his, yet so completely different. Just like the both of them, he supposed.

"I _think_ I love you too."

* * *

 **I actually have more written after this, but it's too cringe-worthy, I can't bear to upload it... So this will do as the conclusion for now HAHAHA. Thank you to all the readers who have put up with me all these years! :) Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all of you! May 2017 be an amazing year!**


End file.
